My Own
by MrsCuddles
Summary: Clearly aware of her situation, Kate lies awake at night reflecting on what her love's destined to.


**A/n: hello! I'm new to this fandom, but not to the wonderful movie "A knight's tale" is! I've been loving it since I saw it in 2001 and I find it so brilliant I decided to write a one shot about the impossible love between Kate and William. I've come up with the idea some time ago, after watching again the deleted scenes, in particuliar the one when Will, Wat, Roland and Kate find Chaucer and his wife Philippa together. When they run away laughing and meet Jocelyn and Christiana, I focused on Kate's expression when a lovestruck Will goes away with Jocelyn. I've always thought her character could have had more space in the movie, because she gave the impression of being quite interested in Will, and after watching that deleted scene, my thoughts about it seemed more logical. Although, I think they would have never been able to end up together, 'cause he's too in love with his lady. So, I've come up with this one shot, which is quite similiar to one posted before by Lady Shye (it's called **_Pretending_**). Hope you like it! - xo Mel**

**MY OWN**

_William._

The most noble knights have worn this name with pride. It is a common name, maybe too common, but on you it seems to resonate with a special uniqueness. Because you are special, William.

_Sir William Thatcher. My Lord. My Will._

I knew from the first glance I gave you that you were not another one of those knights that for years have come and gone, sometimes as winners, sometimes with their tail between their legs and some ailment. No, you were special. _Unique_, without a doubt. With that bold attitude, your gait rustic, yet fair and honest. Your eyes so sweet, but all at once hard and confident. Your rebellious curls, as wild as your soul eager for redemption. Your curls, wild and aggressive, yet as shining as the Sun, as that one star meant to sparkle on the others, to give warmth and to give life.

And that is exactly what makes you so special : you give life, William. And I do not say so because you and your countless victories give us a hot meal, a dry place to sleep, a bath at least once a week, with no fret of the chatter of the other knights : Sir William Thatcher, winner of the world tournament of jousting, competing to support his squires, a « hack » and a blacksmith for peanuts. «_ I have been raised on black pudding and ealu, thus wish I not to change my habits now !_ », comes your proud reply.

You have no intention of changing who you were and still are to fit in the noble world, to fit as a Lord and dine with a mouthful of pigeon pie or sturgeon, because you are Will, as simple as it is. You are the same old Will, only with a much more important title. You are Will, the noble-hearted knight.

No, I say so because at night, when we are traveling or we simply make a stop in a remote village, when there is no reason to mount each tent and we share the same, I sometimes lie awake staring at you. I watch your cheekbones, high and defined, highlighted by the dim and adorable freckles that occasionally glimpse on your golden skin; I watch your sculpted jaw, that you squeeze and grit whenever anger assails you because of a quarrel with Roland or Wat, or when you are thoughtful and you frown at the same time, fixing your beautiful hazel eyes on the horizon, as if you could see there your thoughts gradually shaping into form, or more likely the solution to your dilemma. _Oh, how I love those moments_. Your look becomes so dense, so deep and more interesting than it already is. I can almost reach out to touch it. I watch your soft nose, that you scrunch up when you're worried or confused; I watch your eyelashes, moving in a gentle swizzle against your cheeks like the flutter of a butterfly every time a dream kidnaps your sleep; I watch the softness of your hair, the mass of tangled golden threads that I myself would love to feel scrolling between my fingers blackened by the fire. Maybe they could even bring my hands back to the way they were before, soft and silky, not rigid and cracked as they are now.

And it is in those dark nights, illuminated by your presence, that by watching you I feel myself overcomed and enveloped by a feeling I had not quite felt in a very long time, a heat that had gone down over the years but that now you, only you, have managed to bring back up. A heat that gives me life. I feel myself full of vital force by only laying my eyes upon your figure.

You are there, lying on the ground, with your head at Wat's feet, to the side, while on the other there is Roland, who continues to mutter in his sleep. So you all started traveling, so shall you continue to travel : united, faithful to each other, despite your titles making you different now. It is in these moments when I am free to steal you with my thoughts that I feel full of life.

_Oh, Will_. You are life. _You are as much life as a woman could ever want in a whole eternity_.

I will never put into words this crazy thought of mine in which I find myself being in love with you. How could I ever do such a thing ? It would be extremely comical if that rolled out of my mouth.

People fall in love knowing each other, becoming first confidants and then tender lovers. Like _you_ and_ Lady Jocelyn_. Oh, how blind she is ! Or maybe not, maybe she is only extremely naive : does she not notice how girls look at you ? How everyone, men and women, are fascinated by your caramel eyes, warm and silky ? How everybody would love to take her place, including me ?

It is not a lie, it is the truth. I would love to live in an alternate world, where I am the happy, beautiful and educated one by your side; the one you look at with glistening and loving eyes, proud to consider yourself hers. I would wear those beautiful clothes and lay delicately my hand high on yours, accompanying you to banquets, tournaments and to the royal palace; as your woman, your love, and not as a simple and faithful blacksmith.

But this is reality, William: I am not more than that to you. When you look at me, you do not see a woman, but a faithful member of your team, a basic one, but still only one element. I am not a woman in your eyes, but a blacksmith trapped in female rags; nor am I a friend, a confidant. You do not confide your secrets to me, that is Roland's role as a friend and almost as an older brother; I am just the one with whom you spend a few hours in the forge to shape, adjust and improve your armor, the one with whom you exchange opinions on jousting techniques, to avoid further bruising. Neither more nor less. Because in addition to those hours, we do not share anything, William, except (occasionally) the tent. I am part of the group, of your "family," but not of your life. Because to be part of your life I should be part of your emotions. And I am not part of it. I will never be. But I am fine with that.

Because no one will ever be able to take from me the life you give me in those moments when I stare at your sleeping form, mesmerized. Aye, because in those moments when you assume the appearance of a blond angel asleep, a stubborn cherub, when your shaky and faint breath as sweet and delicate as a sometimes absinthe, sometimes hippocras flavored whisper (when you come back from a night at the tavern with Wat, "down among the dead men", as Geoff would say) comes out in a silent rhythm stroking the tender flesh of your lips, in those moments I know that no one could ever steal you away from my eyes. Even Jocelyn.

Because in those moments, Will, I have the awareness of being able to do what she does with so much joy every day and every night, when your strong arms encircle her and your rough and calloused hands caress her soft skin: impressing in my memory the image of you laying there , the rough but noble shapes of your body, I can call yourself mine; in those moments, you are my most precious thought, kept away at day, but jealously guarded at night. In those moments you are to me more than you will ever be for Jocelyn. In those moments you are nothing but _my own_.


End file.
